


Shifter x Shifter

by youkokurama



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Shifter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26541139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youkokurama/pseuds/youkokurama
Summary: In a little town in Gevaş, Napoleon makes a new friend.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	Shifter x Shifter

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't posted for a long time and this is a little shifter verse nobody wants lol. Comments much appreciated though to feed the soul! Hugely inspired by this adorable video: https://www.aa.com.tr/tr/vg/video-galeri/van-kedisi-ile-tilkinin-ornek-dostlugu/0
> 
> Partially beta-ed by my dear @chasingmusesrp at Tumblr (and idk if I should beta the rest). Wherever you are, I miss you =(.

It was already the beginning of February but it still felt like the height of December winter most days in Gevaş. Frost still chased the dawn and dusk; by midday everything smelled of damp leaves and damp earth. It almost felt like London on its usual cold and rainy days, except there weren't any buildings here, no bustling transportation, no busy people and streets --- just endless rows of trees, rolling greens, patches of shrubbery, and a low brick house or two which he could barely see as dots of contrasting color from a distance. It was the middle of nowhere.

Napoleon still felt that this was the best vacation place he had ever had.

He almost regretted being there, at first, the luxuries of civilization were absent --- no hotels, no easily accessible transport, and the housing that he was given was basically just a mountaineer's cabin with one room and a little partition for a kitchen. If it weren't for the last mission he had, a long-winded race through cramped cities that almost cost him a limb literally, Napoleon wouldn't have been done with everything urban at that point, and Waverly wouldn't have read his mood and cheerfully given him the next mission.

"Gevaş?" Napoleon had echoed, his mind instantly going through his geography, "...Turkey? What the hell is _in_ Turkey?"

Apparently there were a lot of ancient ruins he could visit, the locals generally minding their own business, and he managed to make do with his assigned dwelling. So it was all good in the end.

That morning, in particular, saw him rather excitedly pedaling up the slope to his place with his new purchase. It was a big sheepskin rug from the small flea market downtown, so soft it almost felt like expensive fleece when he dug his fingers into it. After a good washing it would make a nice carpet on the floor in front of the low divan in the daytime, and something he could lay his small mattress on at night (the cabin hadn't even come with a mattress, he had to buy one that matched the height of the divan --- a traditional couch, more like a dense, formed pillow that sat on the floor that was to be his bed --- whoever had built the place couldn't have anticipated that the divan wouldn't fit someone as broad and tall as Napoleon was). Napoleon knew he had to keep a low profile for this particular mission, but the single luxury of a rug? He just couldn't resist, if only to make up for the cramped quarters UNCLE had given him.

Not bothering to park his bicycle properly, he immediately went straight inside and started to untie his bundle, laying it on the floor of his cabin to see how it looked. He was satisfied to see that he had estimated the size correctly, still enough space for the doorway and threshold when tucked into the underside of the divan. 

Next, he closed all the windows, took off his clothes, and began to Change.

Napoleon was not only a very good spy, but a Fox Shifter as well. One of the few that were known, and employed, by the most powerful intelligence agencies across the world. First by the CIA, now by UNCLE.

What made him an _excellent_ agent, and different from the rest, was he could use the heightened senses and abilities of a fox _without_ changing into one, and vice versa: still maintaining human awareness even in animal form. And he could do both for extended periods of time. The secret to this ability was his acknowledgment of his animal side's need to transform and he indulged when it wanted to, unlike other Shifters who desperately avoid being in their animal forms as much as possible for fear of being "lost". Too much time in animal form and their human awareness dissipated.

Shifting was a painful experience though; as bones shrunk, snapped and rearranged, nails and teeth sharpened, and hair thickened through skin until he was left curled up and twitching on the rug in his Fox form. Even now after the two months rehab that followed the surgery to reconnect his right shoulder back to its socket. It was never easy to be manacled for days, ten feet off the ground from just one limb, after all, especially stuck in his human form unable to change because of the blood loss and the pain.

He stretched out long on the rug when he finally recovered, a low whine in his throat when he felt the twinge of his injured shoulder. The heightened sensation of sinking into the fluffy rug was so worth it though, and he stays stretched out like that, the end of his tail lazily swishing in contentment. His fox side approved of the purchase as well, so he was happy.

This was the _life_.

When Napoleon "indulged", his fox form could usually get away with anything. Maybe because, despite their wariness of the wildlife, people generally found foxes fascinating and attractive. Even cute.

Napoleon knows his form _is_ \--- cute even with his coat more muted with colors of dark browns and greys and dirty white because of the frosty season, rather than the usual sleek reddish fur. The only downside was that the dark stripes flanking his eyes and snout were more pronounced, making him look fiercer. It was all offset by the slight dip at the end of his tail which made the rest of the fur fluffy and white like a bunny's tail --- a constant feature regardless of the color of his fur. 

Some co-workers thought it was too flamboyant, just like the rest of him. An unnecessary manifestation of personality by a Shifter, they believe, not an actual physical trait that an animal is born with. Napoleon embraced that distinction like a trump card, regardless.

He was a little too naughty this time though when he went down to Lake Van to hunt, took too much of a risk --- when he dared to snatch one of the fish from a boat with the fishermen just a few feet away. He felt he rather deserved being chased away angrily with a fishing rod --- but when the hook caught and pierced his hind leg it stung. A _lot_.

He scampered away as fast and as far as he could, until he found a quiet area of the beach where he could flop down with his stolen haul and mournfully regard his new wound.

It wasn't long before his senses were alerted to some footfalls trying to be sneaky, and with ears perked up he looked to the direction of the movement before the white fluff finally appeared.

It was a big white cat. It didn't look like any of the alley cats he saw occasionally around the area, this one is quite plump like a well-fed house cat. It also had a dark streak across the top of its head between its ears, like an inverted exclamation point. 

The cat had the same mismatched eye colors that the cats usually had, one amber and one a clear sky blue. It froze, almost comically, for two seconds in mid-step when it realized the fox was openly staring, before unfurling with a flick of its tail and approaching even slower into a crouch.

Napoleon continued to watch the slow movements until the cat was nearly flattened to the ground in a near-crawl, its gaze now flicking from the fox's eyes to the stolen fish he had pinned under his paw. Napoleon stretched his nose up to the sky and snapped his teeth, the gesture both lazy and unperturbed, a warning to the other animal who obviously wanted a piece of his food.

The cat had frozen again. But after a few seconds it began moving once more, even closer while those big eyes were fixed on him. Like it was trying to anticipate what he would do next. Napoleon started to think the animal had no sense of self-preservation.

Contrary to popular belief, foxes don't actively attack cats for food. Usually, they leave each other alone. The only time a fox might think of eating a cat was if it was already dead. Napoleon knows, because he tried once, back when he was in the army and there happened to be nothing else to eat. It was an uncomfortable experience, and he would rather stick to dead bunnies or some other small creature.

So he let the cat get closer. The sting in his hind leg was taking too much of his attention anyway, and he didn't feel like chasing the little one off. He didn't bother taking his paw off his fish, however, not that keen on just giving it away.

The cat settled for the condition, its attention dropping from Napoleon to the fish when it's near enough to bite a piece off. Napoleon watches it chew, before going back for another tiny bite. Then another. It finished nearly a quarter of one side of the fish, just shy of where Napoleon's paw was still stubbornly placed, and Napoleon thought that it would attempt to steal the whole fish next when it straightened up and stretched.

To his surprise the cat just licked its teeth and trotted off a good few feet away. It circled twice before curling down, and tucking its paws under its belly to continue cleaning its teeth.

Napoleon wondered if the little guy was a Shifter as well. He had no chance to try to feel it out more as the cat seemed to be in its own world now, completely ignoring him as it basked in the late afternoon sun. He watched as the light caught the amber eye, and seem to turn the color even redder than it usually was.

The cat became a regular fixture during the trips down to Lake Van in his fox form. Even when he didn't have any food, the cat still showed up and settled a few feet away from him.

One particularly cold and lazy afternoon, Napoleon was feeling curious, so he trotted over to the cat, who was wrapped around itself in a tight ball with its eyes drooping like it was half asleep. The cat didn't seem to care about his approach, even when he was standing right on top of it. He bent down and nudged at the cat's hind leg with his snout.

That was a big mistake. The next second he got a flurry of claws in his face and he had to jump back. The cat was now up in a tense stance, hair standing on end, tail straight up into the air and back arching. The amber eye seemed even redder this time, but maybe it was a trick of the light.

From that point on he called the cat The Red Peril.

Even with that incident, the cat continued to go down the lake and sit near him like nothing happened. There were times that his fox form would be curious again, or playful, and he would try to approach. At that point however, the cat was now more attuned to his movement and it would either twist up and hiss at him or throw another flurry of white paws at him whenever he got near enough. He considered renaming him to Psycho Cat and lamented at his fox side's continuous stubbornness. While the cat's scratches seemed shallow, by the time Napoleon transformed back to human form they were just a faint red mark on his face, he certainly didn't want to risk losing an eye or deeper gouges!

Some fishermen eventually spotted them together and started throwing small fish or another piece of food to the cat's general direction. Maybe they found them adorable together, or they were thinking they were delaying any eventuality of Napoleon mauling the cat for dinner. He was almost offended by this but perhaps even more offensive was that any fish thrown to him was barely an afterthought, especially when he watched the cat polish it off before he could get to it.

Once, he saw the cat finish off the food and then look sideways at him while licking its teeth. Napoleon felt like it was _taunting_ him.

After that, Napoleon started to notice that the cat was sitting closer to him, day by day, and soon enough he could feel the smaller bundle of warm fur against his side. It felt... strangely comfortable, to say the least, and odd at the same time. He tried nudging the cat away once but the cat just stood up and slinked the whole length of its body against his before flopping down again beside him. There were times that he could actually playfully bite now at the cat's neck, or its tail, and the cat would stay put, not twist away with claws out as usual. It was very unusual, but endearing.

So when the fishermen threw food in the cat's direction the next time, it fell right in front of them both. First the cat would eat a tiny portion, and then stepped back settling by his side again.

Napoleon eventually realized it was the cat's way of sharing the food, so he went ahead and ate the rest. 

It was already late one afternoon and Napoleon had to go home. He left his furry little friend dozing on the beach, to go to the bottom of the hill where he hid his bicycle and bag of clothes within a clump of bushes near the treeline. Obscured by the foliage, he began to Change back.

When he finally straightened to fix his clothes and zip up he almost had a heart attack when he saw the white cat sitting near the bushes, looking at him.

"Jesus," he muttered. "How long have you been there?"

The cat just looked at him, before mewling. Napoleon stared warily at it as he picked up his messenger bag and slung it around his shoulders, wondering how much the cat has seen.

And if it was actually a Shifter, who knew what was going on.

"Did you..." he began, but suddenly at loss with what to say. Judging by the way the cat looked at him, it seemed to be a normal cat. Talking to it would just be weird. Sighing at himself, he said instead, "Are you hungry?"

The cat mewled again, but made no move to go near him. He crouched down and tried to pet it, but it instantly shied away from his hand. He rummaged through his bag to retrieve the onigiri he had prepared that morning, and tore off a piece of rice with some of the meat filling to offer it to the cat. The cat cautiously approached his outstretched hand this time, sniffing at the food, before proceeding to bite away at it.

 _Definitely_ a cat.

Napoleon watched as the cat cleaned the food off his fingers, smiling at the feel of the little tongue against his skin. He tore off half of the onigiri and placed it in front of the cat, watching it eat with gusto for a while, before standing up and wiping his hand clean on the side of his pants.

"See you around then," he said to the cat, and turned to pull his bicycle out from the bushes. He had already mounted his bicycle when he felt that familiar little body slink against his leg, mewling.

"What? Are you still hungry?" he asked the cat, who just gave him another of those mewls. He took the rest of the onigiri out of his bag and lowered it down to the cat's level. The cat ignored the food and just mewled again, then stood up on its hind legs to latch its front claws up his pants leg, half-hugging his leg and scratching at it like it wanted to climb up.

Napoleon winced. Good thing he wasn't wearing expensive pants right now. He tried picking the cat up by its scruff but it just stubbornly clung to the cloth, digging its claws in even deeper. "You want to go with me?"

The cat just continued mewling pathetically. "Alright, alright." He somehow manages to pry the cat off his leg, then, with much struggle and a few more scratches later, succeeded in nestling it into the small space in his bag. Leaving the flap open with the cat's head poking out, he rearranged the bag to hang in front of him and tightened the strap around himself so it wouldn't bounce around. He began the slow pedalling up the hill, careful not to spook his bundle.

The cat, miraculously, had pretty much stopped squirming around the time they started the slow ascent up the hill, and Napoleon half-watched as it seemed to observe the surroundings moving past.

After what felt like a long time, they finally reached the cabin. Napoleon deactivated the hidden safeguards going into the house, before putting down his bag, with the cat, on the divan.

The cat instantly jumped up out of the bag once it felt the more stable surface, and rubbed itself in between Napoleon's calves before proceeding to investigate the rest of the house. It was only a small space, and by the time Napoleon had finished opening the windows to let the air in the cat had jumped into the small kitchen counter and was now sniffing at the unwashed pan in the sink. 

Napoleon procured the last of the milk from the fridge and poured it into a bowl. Picking up the cat off the counter he deposited both the cat and the bowl on the small table in the corner. He pulled up the only chair he had and sat down to eat the leftover onigiri while watching the cat lap up the milk.

He wondered if anybody actually owned the cat. It behaved like a domesticated one, but fought like a wildcat. Not that he cared, but it had been awhile since he actually kept a pet and he kind of missed feeling this relaxed and carefree when he had one around.

When he stretched out his fingers to try petting the cat again after it finished the milk, the cat rubbed itself willingly into his hand, purring as it went. 

Napoleon was not really surprised when he found the cat missing the next day. Just a bit disappointed, and a bit mystified as to how it could have gotten out when the door and all the windows had been locked. He tried to ignore his Shifter theory, the way the cat behaved until bedtime was nothing out of the ordinary, just a bit too trusting (it had made itself too comfortable on the rug that he had difficulty peeling it off there so he could roll out his mattress).

Maybe there was some hole somewhere in the house he didn't know about. Thus he spent a great deal of the morning thoroughly looking through the cabin again, not keen on having any unknown security risk.

It was nearing lunch and there wasn’t a hole in sight. Trying to shake off the nagging feeling that he was missing something important, Napoleon went downtown, as planned, to buy some food and get to work on his mission.

After buying the needed supplies for his cabin, he went to have lunch in the tavern situated halfway between the town and the lake. It was a pretty much a run-down, open space, a hut with a mini-bar and a big roof sheltering some old, chipped tables and chairs. Despite looking so antiquated and badly needing a paint job, most of the fishermen, farmers, and other townsfolk seem to like converging on this tavern alone during mealtimes, and sometimes, in the late afternoon and nights for drinks. It was quite convenient for Napoleon to pick up on the latest buzz going around while enjoying his food and working his alibi as a half-Turkish, half-American expat trying to trace back his roots. Nobody suspected he actually understood everything they were talking about, some of the townsfolk seemed to pity his broken Turkish and took effort to explain some words to him during their conversations.

That noon, for instance, there was heated chatter among some patrons regarding the current state of the government. He just loved how the Turkish locals were so passionate with their opinions, especially when drunk, that he didn't really need to eavesdrop with much effort with the loud voices going about. Napoleon had to be extra vigilant this time, for the person of interest he had been assigned to observe happened to be there listening in as well.

The rabbit was a recent philosophy doctorate graduate by the name of Tabib Berkan, a mild-looking reed of a man with thick round glasses and prematurely graying hair at the temples. He was suspected to be taking advantage of the underlying tensions in the country due to the recent coup by secretly recruiting destabilizers, possibly for the benefit of an as yet unknown foreign entity. Napoleon sincerely hoped that whichever foreign entity it was, if it existed, would _not_ be Nazi-related again, Waverly claimed that this mission would only be information-gathering, that it would be very much a vacation.

Waverly had been known to miss time to time on his estimations however, mostly at Napoleon's expense.

Napoleon was starting to get bored as he was not really hearing anything substantial so far, when a flash of white suddenly jumped onto the subject's lap.

 _Oh_ , was all he thought, with a little pang of disappointment as he watched the Red Peril immediately curl onto Berkan's lap, and close its eyes as Berkan stroked through its fur with some automatic familiarity. That explained where the cat came from then.

The cat opened its eyes after a while, and seemed to notice Napoleon watching. It stretched up again, before jumping off Berkan's lap to gracefully hop on a barstool, then up onto the bar itself to stroll its way to where Napoleon was eating his lunch, earning some irritated mutters from some of the patrons there who nearly had their food stepped on.

"Hi again," Napoleon cooed, scratching at the underside of the cat's head when it was near enough. The cat leaned into his touch, purring, which made Napoleon melt all over again. Apparently he had also gotten the attention of Burkan, who had come over with a smile.

"So he knows you as well," Burkan said in Turkish. "You're the newcomer, right?"

"Yes," Napoleon replied in Turkish as he extended a hand. "I'm Leo."

Burkan took it warmly. "I'm Tabib. Did you find already who you're looking for?"

Napoleon pretended not to understand the question, squinting at Burkan like he was trying to decipher what he said. "Ah," Burkan then tried to explain, switching to heavily accented English, "Family? You see them now?"

"Ah, my ancestors you mean?" Napoleon attempted in a mix of English and heavily accented Turkish, trying to give an impression that he was trying hard to communicate in the language with gestures to match. "No. I think I might go to the capital now for that."

Berkan nodded, somehow understanding what Napoleon said. He opened his mouth as if about to say something, then changed his mind. He motioned instead to the tavern owner currently manning the bar, and spoke some rapid-fire Turkish which, once more, Napoleon pretended not to comprehend.

The tavern owner then relayed to Napoleon, in heavily accented English, "Burkan invites you. Three days time is sister's wedding. Good so you can see Turkish tradition."

"Oh." He looked back at Burkan, smiling, nodding his assent. "Thank you. I will be there," he said in Turkish.

Burkan smiled back, clapping Napoleon briefly on the shoulder. "See you," he said in English as he lifted his cat off from the bar, who tried to burrow itself into Burkan's arms.

Napoleon was secretly excited at the opportunity and he tried not to watch Burkan leave with some companions. It would be a good time to see who was in Burkan's inner circle, and if he got lucky he might also find out if there was an external instigator or if this was just another little isolated coup attempt.

He turned to the tavern owner, asking in broken Turkish, "Is there anything special I need to know about a Turkish wedding?"

Two nights after Burkan's invitation, Napoleon was leaning against his kitchen table, staring at the closet across from himself, taking stock of the few clothes he brought with him. He hadn’t brought any of his expensive clothes with him as it was not needed with his cover story and might earn him suspicion. But it felt like a loss now that he couldn't see anything appropriate for a wedding. 

The tavern owner had assured him that any decent clothes would do, as he was a foreigner and nothing was really expected of guests like him. He still had to look presentable though, he thought, reaching into his closet for a cream long-sleeve shirt that looked relatively new compared to the dismally ordinary-looking wardrobe he had.

He detected some motion around his peripheral vision and he whipped around to look at the open window next to the kitchen sink that looked out over the grass and forest beyond. He walked over nevertheless to peer outside, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

He heard something moving behind his back and when he looked from the window he saw the end of his white bath towel slide into the next room.

"Hey!" He immediately dashed to the living area, spotting a familiar white tail disappear out the window with his towel in tow. He ran to the window to see the white cat scamper into the tomato bushes across his little backyard, dragging his towel until he could not see them anymore.

_What the hell._

He ran out of the house, quickly locking the door behind himself, then ran to the area where he last spotted the cat. The tomato trellis was as vast as a field and as high as his waist, and the moonlight barely peeking through the scattered tall trees was not much help in helping him see anything.

Luckily, he had his fox sense, and, with eyes now faintly glowing as he dialled it up, he concentrated on the general area of the field until he managed to pick out, among the random night critters, the faint but quick movement of that naughty white cat. It was going in a straight line across the field, making its way to some group of trees beyond. Being able to estimate the cat's trajectory, Napoleon used his superhuman speed to go around the field and to the area where he could run into and surprise the cat.

At a certain point though, when he was nearing the trees, the cat's movement abruptly stopped, and despite Napoleon still having his fox senses turned on, it was like the cat disappeared entirely. He slowed down to a halt in a small clearing, confused if his fox sense had been turned off for a brief period of time.

He then sensed something foreign at the edge of his consciousness, before hearing a faint swish of water at the vicinity. _A human_ , he realized, and quickly toned down his senses so that it would not show in his eyes. He carefully made his way through the trees to where he heard the sound, curious to see who would be so bold to swim at night, and saw a small lake a few meters beyond.

At first he saw some disturbance in the middle of water, like someone was floating under it. He was about to get concerned when that someone suddenly resurfaced with a massive splash, and Napoleon found his mouth growing dry at the sight.

... Of a man with a well-toned back and arms, glistening enticingly under the faint moonlight as he smoothed and slicked back the water from his light-colored hair. The man appeared to be very tall as well, as he straightened up further that the water was now halfway his thighs. Napoleon's eyes couldn’t help but follow those rivulets of water running down that lean body, straying down to the man's pert buttocks.

The man seemed to sense he had an audience, twisting in Napoleon's general direction and giving Napoleon quite an eyeful of his other assets. 

Napoleon wavered, considered hiding further even, before he decided with resignation that being weird wouldn't help and the man may have already spotted him anyway. He stepped into the clearing where the sparse light could hit him so the man could see him.

"Hello," it came out almost shy. Napoleon had to struggle to keep his eyes up to meet the other's, not stray down to the man's impressive chest and abs and even down further. He couldn’t help it especially when he saw such a fine work of art like this one. It's not that hard anyway, as the man's face was not bad at all to look at. Handsome, he might even admit, with those long eyelashes framing clear blue eyes and cupid-bow lips, if he hadn’t looked so serious like he wanted to bore a hole through Napoleon's skull at the moment. Discreetly clearing his throat, he managed to get out, "Isn't it too cold to swim right now?"

"No. I swam in worse," the man said in return. He had a heavy accent in his deep voice that made Napoleon think he was also a foreigner. How come he had never seen nor heard of the man the whole time he was here in this small town?

He watched as the man stepped up to the bank, not caring about the frosty night air and not at all self-conscious of his nakedness, heading towards a pile of fallen trees. 

"By the way, I'm Leo," he called out, sensing their short conversation ending.

The man pulled a familiar-looking, white towel from behind one log, and Napoleon felt as if his insides suddenly turned to ice. 

The man, unaware of Napoleon' plight, dried himself with the towel briskly before wrapping it around his waist.

"I am Illya," the man said, barely glancing at Napoleon as he began walking to the opposite end of the clearing. "See you around."

He spent almost all of the next day trying to look for the foreigner, asking around when he could. 

The previous night, after a moment's hesitation of watching the foreigner disappear into the forest, he had tried to follow him, but even with his senses dialled up he couldn't sense the man anymore.

It was so disconcerting. It was like he saw a _ghost_.

He also spent the rest of the night pacing in his house, regretting not following the foreigner immediately and wondering if he was not the only one with shifting abilities in Gevaş. And if the white cat was the man’s Shifter form. He couldn't believe that a mere cat could be strong enough to drag a towel through the forest with just its teeth. And who could explain the foreigner having the same white towel afterwards? Granted, the man might just have had the same kind of towel, for he had purchased his in the village, but the _coincidence_...

And, even more frustrating, why was that man so damn _hot_?

He rubbed his face with his paw, now on the bank of the lake in his fox form, catching himself daydreaming again. Personally, he favored girls, it was even in his file that he was a womanizer (though that was more of an exaggeration); apart from that one tryst in the army due to months of deprivation he just found men too brusque for his tastes no matter how good-looking they may be. That foreigner though, seemed to tick all his boxes, appealing to his weakness for beautiful and exquisite things.

It may have been a good thing that he never saw even the shadow of the man the whole day.

He felt a nip at his leg. Looking down, he saw the white cat slink in between his legs, purring and seeming to try to get his attention.

It made him even more confused. No matter how much he tried to reach out with his senses, he just couldn't detect any trace of a Shifter in the cat.

He felt like he was going crazy --- maybe he had just been alone for too long and was projecting his needs onto a ghost?

He let his fox form play with the cat the rest of the day, letting his human side brood in the background. Recently, the cat seemed to favor a lot of rough-housing, which earned him more scratches but also the same amount of cuddling afterwards that kept his fox form entertained and content. He could playfully lock his jaw around the cat's scruff now, or its hind leg, and the cat would allow it and freeze for a moment, giving him reprieve from his thoughts.

He almost got distracted by the cat. Almost.

What he hadn’t counted on was actually seeing the man again in Berkan's sister's wedding after party, of all places.

And of all the worst timing, it had to be when he was working.

He should have expected it really. It looked like Berkan had invited the whole town. With all the people milling merrily about, he thought he could follow Berkan and a few guests unnoticed as they went to a room upstairs.

Apparently, it was not to be. As he was straining to hear the argument that seems to be happening on the other side of the door, that familiar deep voice spoke behind him, "What are you doing, Cowboy?"

He blinked, straightening himself like he hadn't been caught doing something suspicious and turned to the sound. "Oh, hello again. Cowboy?"

The foreigner --- Illya --- just pointedly looked at him from head to toe, then back up again. "Yes, American Cowboy. What are you doing?"

Napoleon mentally winced. He really should have considered buying himself a cübbe and a şalvar, like Illya was wearing, a pale beige linen shirt with a cap to match. Instead, he chose the cream shirt under a denim jacket and blue jeans, so he couldn’t fault the foreigner's impression. Not his typical go-to wear, but with such limited wardrobe he had no choice. 

"Ah, I was looking for the bathroom," he said, mentally wincing again at such a lame excuse. It must be the way the cübbe stretched so well over Illya's chest and shoulders, distracting him. "How about you? What are you doing here?"

Illya just looked at him unblinking like he wasn’t buying his bullshit. "I am a guest here. And bathroom is downstairs," he said flatly.

Napoleon flashed him a dazzling smile. Those piercing blue eyes were so unnerving and seemingly too perceptive to be tested at the moment. "Thank you." He tried his best not to look like he wanted to dash off. He just wanted to get out of Illya's immediate vicinity for now.

Managing to get into the bathroom after waiting in line, Napoleon tried to recollect his thoughts before milling around the crowd, hoping that Illya had gone to some other location in the house. Not spotting him anywhere near, he dared to sneak up the rooms again. Thankfully, he could not see the other foreigner anywhere.

He pressed himself to the door where Burkan and his associates were meeting, half-turned to the corridor behind him to see any shadow that might be coming up the stairs to interrupt him again. He was getting a pretty good gist of the conversation behind the door already --- something about acting fast and someone suggesting they look for some people in a university --- when he heard a faint scratching below him.

He looked down, and saw the white cat again. The Red Peril. Berkan's cat. And it was now mewling loudly, adamantly scratching at the door. It stopped for a moment and looked straight at Napoleon, like he was testing if the human would shoo him off or not, then turned away when Napoleon didn't do anything and continued mewling at the door again.

"Get away," Napoleon whispered, before carefully prodding the cat with his boot. The cat protested loudly, then tried to wrestle and bite at the boot.

Napoleon heard footsteps nearing the door. "Shit," he cursed under his breath, and quickly slid into the next room across the hall that was unlocked and empty.

The door opened a crack, he watched as one of Burkan's associates opened the door and saw the cat mewling. "Tabib, your cat," he shouted into the room in Turkish, before scooping the cat up into his arms and taking it with him inside before he closed the door.

Before the door could close however, he felt a chill through his bones as he saw the cat look in his direction before it was taken in.

 _Awareness_. He wasn't sure if he actually had a bit of his fox sense on, or this was just his wishful thinking. But there was no denying that screaming of his instincts when he saw the cat's eyes, and it was the same kind of instinct that saved him multiple times from sure death or capture his whole life. He knew what he saw ---- it was not just merely a cat looking back at something that piques its interest, but a cat with _human awareness_ , a gaze and an understanding that could only be of a _human's_.

And Napoleon couldn’t help but think, _That bastard._


End file.
